Chapter 12
Daphne woke early the next morning. She knew exactly what she was going to do on her morning off. Celia was still asleep,
so she tried to be quiet as she searched through the wardrobe she shared with her sister. Though she had to admit her clothes
took up the most room. And whose fault was that? She couldn’t help it if Celia didn’t really care that much about clothes.
What did Celia do with her spending money anyway? She hadn’t had a new hat since Daphne didn’t know how long. Her underclothes
were made of nainsook—they were practically muslin. All the magazines said good grooming began next to the skin, and though
Daphne didn’t want to waste her spending money on things that couldn’t be seen, she at least insisted on a ladylike foundation.
Quietly, she discarded one choice after another. She’d already been through them in her head, and they didn’t look any more
exciting now that she was trying to choose for real.
She glanced over her shoulder at her sleeping sister and felt .
. . exasperated. She did feel bad about Celia being caught in the raid on Yannis’s.
They’d made a mess, and Celia would probably spend her morning off helping Yannis clean up and telling him all about the postcard seller, but not about the other. She shuddered. Don’t think about it.
Daphne should probably offer to help Yannis, too. If they had come back yesterday, she would have gladly helped. But today
was a rare day off, and really, you couldn’t dwell on depressing stuff all the time. And always worrying about the possibility
of a raid while living and working in a dusty bookshop was about as depressing as she could stand. Besides, she hadn’t been
shopping for herself in ages.
She finally chose her rose-striped crepe with the embroidered collar. She hardly ever got a chance to wear it. It wasn’t something
she would normally wear out for a walk, but Wanamaker’s was only two blocks away. And it did bring out the color in her complexion.
Everyone said so. She laid it out on her bed and slipped into the bathroom to pin her hair.
Ten minutes later she was tiptoeing down the hall and out to the stairs. She was going shopping!
As soon as Celia heard Daphne leave the apartment, she slipped out of bed. She had much to do this morning, but she didn’t
want to take the chance of running into Daphne. The inevitable questions would mean more delay; then trying to get rid of
her sister would take too much energy and time. She washed and dressed in her usual work clothes; she had no desire to call
attention to herself today. Daphne was welcome to the finery; she had a more important duty to fulfill.
The door to Olivia’s room was closed, but Celia doubted she was still asleep.
Olivia rarely slept late—she was a creature of habit.
She would be at work by now, doing whatever she did with the bindings and translations and restorations.
Olivia was like an industry unto herself, though Celia couldn’t help thinking that it was a very lonely existence.
Daphne had her friends from school, though she didn’t see them that often, and Celia had her friends from the women’s group. But Olivia only had her books.
Celia tiptoed down the stairs, past the third floor, careful to step near the brackets on the treads that creaked.
There was no sign of either sister in the shop, so she went immediately to retrieve her knitting bag and the papers she’d
saved from the bin earlier. She should probably stay and help Olivia take out the sidewalk carts, but Olivia had said “morning off” and Celia didn’t know how long the trip would take. She’d make it up to her sister when she got a chance.
She did stop long enough to check the throwaway box for any last-minute messages, but there was nothing. Which meant she would
have to take it upon herself.
Olivia heard both girls leave, each trying her best not to wake her. She’d heard Daphne leave first, her enthusiasm making
her feet patter as if she were dancing, and maybe she was. Then Celia creeping past her door, trying not to make the boards
creak. They did anyway, but Olivia appreciated the attempt. How could someone have two sisters more unalike? They might as
well be from different families.
Olivia was awake, though . . . just. She’d spent most of the night studying the Sappho fragments. And, during her few hours
of sleep, dreaming about them.
She rolled over. Just a few minutes more and then she would go down to roll out the sidewalk carts and watch the shop. It had been a long time.
The day was sunny, and Daphne felt like twirling down the sidewalk. Of course, decorum insisted she curtail her excitement,
but oh, it felt like a holiday.
She did glance at the printshop as she passed. It was still dark and empty, and she felt a stab of chagrin that she hadn’t
tried harder to help. Though Mr. Kirsch and Mr. Henderson had offered to help the Tellers clean up after the raid and said
they wouldn’t need the sisters’ help at all. Yannis probably didn’t even know about the postcard seller, which was just as
well. Mr. Teller might not want him to keep the shop open if it would put him in danger’s path. She didn’t much like that
idea, herself. He had to come back. The printshop belonged there, like always. She couldn’t imagine them closing and moving
away. She’d be sure to be extra nice to Yannis when he did return.
Feeling much better, she set a brisk but not unladylike pace down the sidewalk, past the entrance to the Grace Church garden,
past Stammer’s on the corner, and across Tenth Street, where she joined the other ladies entering the second largest department
store in the city.
They crowded through the double doors as soon as they opened. Once inside, Daphne stopped to let the other shoppers hurry
past while a little thrill of anticipation—and of memory—washed over her as she took in the wonders around her. The vastness
of the rotunda and the floors and floors of balconies of seemingly unending delights. The horseshoe staircase that led to
the second floor, where she could browse all day and never have to go to another floor unless she wanted to.
She had an old school friend who worked in ladies’ hats behind the ribbon counter.
If she was working today, maybe they would have a quick tea in one of Wanamaker’s many tea shops.
She made her way to the ribbon counter, where Ronnie Parsons was attending a young woman, obviously recently married, who perused a variety of ribbons spread out on the counter.
Ronnie glanced Daphne’s way. “I’ll be with you in—” She broke off in surprise, smiled. Held up one finger and continued with
her customer.
Daphne turned to take in the array of beautiful colors, textures, and designs of the merchandise. Grosgrain, satin, calico,
velvet. Some on rolls, some pre-tied as ornaments for hats or coiffures. The circular counter was open on three sides, and
two salesgirls in addition to Ronnie waited on customers. Daphne thought how different it was here, surrounded by space and
light, the displays pleasant to the eye and colorful. The customers moving easily from one counter to another. Oh, how it
contrasted to the Arcadia, where the aisles between shelves were narrow and poorly lit. Where old-paper smell clung to almost
every volume; even the new books seemed to absorb the shop’s age.
She picked up a wide pink-checked bow, with six-inch tails finished in dove-tailed ends. Jaunty and fresh, it would be perfect
for the end of summer to spruce up her current straw; it would make it look practically brand-new. Or maybe the dark blue
velvet for fall, except she would never go anywhere she could wear it. She turned back to the pink just as Ronnie bade farewell
to her customer and hurried over.
“Daphne Applebaum! Where have you been? It’s been donkey years since I’ve seen you.”
“I know, I’ve been so busy,” Daphne said, studying the pink-checked bow. Busy waiting on her own customers, waiting for the shop to close each night. Waiting for the man of her dreams to walk through the door. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
“This is lovely,” she said, indicating the bow.
“It’s been very popular this season. We’ve sold quite a few.” Ronnie gave herself a little shake. “I sounded like I was trying
to make a sale, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to. You just get in the habit.
“Are you in a hurry? I have a break in an hour. We could have a quick cup of tea and a pastry or something.”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“I’ll meet you on level three by the book department, there’s a little snack place there that I like. Not too stuffy.”
“Let’s synchronize our watches,” Daphne said, her spirits suddenly lighter.
“Just like the old days,” Ronnie said. “Oops. Gotta go help this lady before she wrecks the display. It took us hours to get
it just right.”
“It’s lovely,” Daphne said, noticing now how the ribbons and bows and bandannas were color coordinated, starting with white
and running through the spectrum of rainbow colors before ending with black.
It begged you to walk around the entire counter, like the two ladies who had just walked up were doing, just as if they were
being led.
Daphne sighed.
She wandered past the perfume counters; idled by the makeup, but she didn’t really have cause to wear makeup. No one would
notice if she did. Even the young medical and law students would be hard-pressed to see her glowing complexion in the gloom
of the Arcadia.